The Form Beneath
by rscoil
Summary: Christine becomes the first to see Erik's face in several lifetimes.


"You are...immortal?"

Erik gave her a wry smile. "More or less."

"But you don't look old."

"Well, Christine, makeup is a wondrous thing. And, when you have eternity to practice, you're bound to be good at something."

"I want to see you," she said uncertainly. "In your true form."

"Are you certain that you want to see?"

Christine spoke in a voice that sounded braver than she felt. "Yes. I think I will have to before I can properly believe all of this."

Erik nodded grimly and gestured for her to follow him into the bathroom. He took his place before the large mirror. "If this gets to be too much, say something. I can always stop. If you have to run, do so. You have my word that I will not pursue. Once I begin this process, I will be in no fit state to chase after you, anyhow. In terms of your own comfort, you needn't spare my feelings. However, I do ask that, should your stomach start churning, you make use of the garbage can by the door. I've grown rather fond of the rug you're standing on and I would hate to see it ruined."

Christine nodded and took note of the can. Just in case.

"So, we begin."

He started with the gloves, pulling away the supple leather to reveal the skin beneath. His coworkers thought he had a thing about germs. In reality, he was hiding the signs of his curse.

The rest of his body was not as bad as his face. The membrane of skin was intact, though paper thin and prone to tearing. Unlike his face, it would heal if cut, albeit slowly.

"You see, Christine? I have an old man's withered hands, with all the strength of youth. At least the agility and dexterity have remained."

He removed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He undid the buttons at his neck to grant access the base of the latex cowl.

On a whim, Erik pulled out his phone. A few swipes later, a pop song began drifting from a speaker in the corner.

"You like pop music?" Christine's voice was surprised.

He met her gaze in the mirror as he reached for a container of makeup wipes. "Yes, why wouldn't I?"

"It's just, I don't know. It doesn't seem like something that a music professor would go for."

"What do you imagine? That I should only listen to classical?" The concealer came off of the skin around his right eye, exposing the grayish surface beneath.

"You have to admit that's the stereotype. Everyone's out to prove that they know the grandest, most revered pieces."

"Then they are boxing themselves off. It's true that I know most, if not all, of the great classical works. The distinction between the classics and popular music is a fallacy, however. Where would you draw the line? Once we start deciding what works are worthy or unworthy of our attention, we are turning a blind eye to the rest." His left eye was now exposed and Christine could now clearly see the edge of the prosthetic.

"You have a point."

"Of course I do. That's been one of the few good parts of this whole situation. I've gotten to see music evolve in real time. Things have come a long way. Even the equipment has moved forward by leaps and bounds. When I was a teenager, you had to find a musician if you wanted to listen to music. Even my first turntable was a marvel when I got it. Now, I can listen to almost anything I'd like with a flick of my finger. It's unbelievable." His fingers slid under the wig and removed it, exposing the portion of the cowl that covered his scalp.

"I'd never thought of it like that. The things you must have heard."

"I make it a point to attend a variety of performances every year. It doesn't matter what, as long as there are performers who love their craft. I actually worked as a producer in New York City for several years. I still have involvement, but it's mostly financial at this point. I try to attend things when I can." His fingers were teasing the seam at what would have been his hairline. He tugged on the forehead section and it gave way, revealing the first true glimpse of the horror beneath.

Christine's eyes widened, but she didn't comment on what she was seeing. "And you come back to teach the students what you've heard?"

Erik shrugged. "Every musician is different. You hear things differently when you perform because you're actively a part of the music. A listener has a different experience. Sometimes, all it takes is a second set of experienced ears to pick up on strengths and weaknesses. To build the strengths and eliminate the weaknesses."

"I wouldn't mind an assessment of my abilities if you're up for it."

Erik's hand froze on his cheek, where he was coaxing off the next panel of fake flesh. "Are you trying to make plans with me? Half an hour ago, you were ready to sprint out of my office."

"Things change. What can I say? It isn't every day that you meet a musical genius with over a century of experience."

"Allow me to reiterate what I told you yesterday. Flattery will get you nowhere with me." The small panel came off in his hands and he felt the sting as the air hit his exposed flesh.

"I know. My point is that even your fellow professors can learn. Why can't I take advantage of your expertise? If you're willing to share it, that is."

"For you? Always." He winced as the left cheek came free.

"Are you sure you're not in love with me? You said I remind you of someone, a girl from your past."

"I have no romantic inclinations where you are concerned. You may be assured of that." He sighed. "I am just an old man clinging to the ghost of a memory."

"That's probably for the best. I don't need you getting in a fight with my girlfriend."

"I make no promises, but I'm glad you have someone. What's she like?" It felt like a hot knife on his flesh as Erik released the piece along his jawline.

"Her name is Meg. She's an aerobic and dance instructor downtown. We have a little Pomeranian together. Remind me later to show you pictures. She's the most adorable puppy."

Erik paused in his work. "What makes you think there will be a later? You could still run away screaming."

"Honestly, the conversation is helping. It's a good reminder that, whatever your face looks like, there's still a person beneath it."

"Bold of you to assume that I am still a person at this point." He braced himself and yanked off the section bordering what was once his lower lip.

"Don't be so dramatic. What else would you be?"

"At the moment, living corpse feels apt. The human body is not meant to exist this long. I can feel it in my bones." He took the opportunity to grip the prosthetic nose and pull it from his face.

The resulting squelch caused Christine's stomach to churn. She seriously considered whether she might need the garbage can after all. "Did you just pull your nose off?"

Erik shuddered as he looked at the ruins of his face in the mirror. "It hasn't been my nose in over a hundred years. Just a prosthetic. Want to hold it?" He'd be lying if he said Christine's instinctive cringe didn't give him a hint of amusement.

"No, that's quite all right."

"Suit yourself. I am going to keep my teeth in because I want to retain diction. That just leaves the cowl itself." His fingers slid beneath the latex and he lifted the piece over his head.

Despite her best efforts, Christine was frozen in horror. His entire head was without skin. His face was comprised of what she assumed must be muscles and tendons, though they were a grisly mix of black and gray. Without a nose and with his mouth closed, only his eyes defined the expanse as something that might have been a face. Any doubt about his curse disappeared.

Erik watched her intently. He'd never stood exposed like this before another person and he found it unsettling.

Her silence stretched into minutes. He reached for his phone to give his hands something to do.

The small movement seemed to unfreeze Christine. "That's, um, really something."

Erik stared at her for a moment. Then he laughed. He laughed at the absurdity of the whole situation, at the mockery of life that was his existence. He laughed, even as it felt like his face would shatter from the movement. Shoulders shaking, he slid to the floor and sat with his back resting against the vanity.

Christine was looking at him as if he'd lost his mind and perhaps he finally had. He looked up at her. "Yes, Christine. It really is something."


End file.
